


Split at the Seams

by gubiegubes



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuser POV, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubiegubes/pseuds/gubiegubes
Summary: (Inspired by milkyoatmeal’s Football Morty AU - RIP)Morty's two years older and bigger, now. Taller, too. Rick has a hard time with it.





	Split at the Seams

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about milkyoatmeal's Football Morty for way too long. Here's my attempt at Rick's really shitty, terrible POV.

When Morty turns sixteen, Beth cradles his face and says, “Morty, look at you. You’ve gotten so tall.”

“Yeah,” Summer says, cutting the cake, “who knew you’d actually turn out kind of cute.”

“He kinda looks like me, you know, when I was in high school,” Jerry says, holding his plate out first. Beth’s been letting him visit on _important days,_ as she calls it, and Rick can’t begrudge her for that. He _can_ begrudge Jerry, as always.

“A-aw, y-you guys,” Morty says, still all dumb grins, still shaky. Rick sees him glance over his way, like he’s expecting him to join in on this familial circlejerk. Rick looks out the window instead, drinking deep from his flask.

Later, Rick’s bent over Morty’s back, committed to hiding his surprise at how well Morty holds him up now, and says, “Bet you were expecting me to join in on that familial circlejerk, huh?”

“Huh?” Morty grunts, face red and sweaty against his pillow, “W-what are you talking about?”

“ _So tall_ , Morty,” Rick mimics, without an ounce of remorse at the stricken look Morty throws him over his shoulder, “you gain a few dozen pounds, a-and, and grow a couple inches, and suddenly you’re—you’re hot shit or something, Morty?’

“R-rick, stop,” Morty says, and when he straightens, Rick can’t keep him down. He falls back against the bed, his cock slipping clean out of Morty. Morty turns around, putting his legs on either side of Rick. “Don’t be a dick on my birthday at least, please?”

Rick jerks himself off with long, lazy strokes. “You’re so hot, Morty—urrp—You’re soooo _dreeeamy._ ”

He says it with a sarcastic tone—for the most part—but Morty gets rattled by it, he can tell. His cheeks turn redder and he can’t look Rick in the eye. Rick scoffs. Good.

“Liked you better when—when you were smaller,” he says, for good measure. He hears Morty’s sharp breath. Rick gets up to leave.

-

Morty avoids Rick over the next few days, and Rick punishes him by ignoring him back. He’s trying for the football team, something Jerry got way too excited about because he warmed the bench for three seasons back in his own day. It’s the only reason Rick can think of as to why Beth would want to sleep with him in the first place. Rick gives him a lesson on basking in reflected “glory” until Jerry’s face crumples and he stomps back to his car.

Summer’s taking night classes at the local community college, waitressing by day. Rick goes to pick up a massive shipment of Guborg oil alone. He almost dies, but more importantly, nobody’s around to appreciate it when he shoots a Guborgian cop’s eye straight out of her socket at 100 yards.

Morty gets home at dinner time, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted and dirty from running around all day. His school t-shirt hugs his chest, broader, wider now. Broader than Rick’s has ever been.

“How were tryouts, sweetie?” Beth asks.

Morty beams. “I got in.”

“Congratulations!” Beth says, at the same time Summer says, “That’s awesome, Morty!”

There’s a beat before Rick says, “Have fun losing the rest of your brain cells.”

“Shut up, Rick,” Morty says. It hangs in the air, heavy. Rick flips him the bird.

“I think it’s great,” Beth says, tossing a worried look Rick’s way, “I’ve always thought you should put your energy in extracurriculars, you know, since…”

“Since I suck at school?” Morty finishes. Another heavy silence.

“No,” Beth says slowly, “I-I didn’t say that…”

“Jesus, just let Morty be happy,” Summer says. Morty smiles gratefully at her. “Which position, bro?”

“Running back,” Morty says, “guess Rick’s adventures, a-all that fleeing—guess it was good for something.”

Rick almost says, _Was?_ He tips his head back and downs the rest of his flask instead.

-

Rick gets drunk. Ohhhh boy, _ohhh shit,_ does he get drunk. It takes a lot these days, but Squanchy’s hooked him up with the best distributor of 200-proof in the known galaxy. Someone from their Flesh Curtains days, not that Rick remembers. He doesn’t remember a lot of those days, but the pictures and videos represent a goddamn good time.

He tries tinkering in his lab, but shit’s not working. His hands shake as he tries to tie two wires together. They’re too small and delicate for his fingers, and he’s about to yell for Morty when he remembers that Morty’s hands are too big now, too.  He throws the wires down in disgust and then raises his arm and sweeps the bloated mass of chips and cords onto the floor. It breaks and everything scatters, pieces of plastic and metal skittering underneath the tool bench. Rick stares at it. He’ll try something else. Better than asking Morty for help. He opens his drawers and scrounges around.

-

He’s in front of Morty’s door. He turns the knob and opens it, ready to act like nothing’s happened, ready to take what’s his.

The room is empty.

“If you’re looking for Morty, he went to the movies with Jessica,” Summer says from her room, and then, “Do you need help with something, Grandpa Rick?”

Rick can hear the hopeful tone in her voice. He rolls his eyes and closes the door, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Uh, no, Summer,” he yells, “thanks, though. I-I’ll let you know.”

After a pause, Summer says, “Okay.”

-

It’s not like Rick hasn’t thought of putting a tracking device on Morty. He already had one, but when Morty found out he threw an absolute fit, like, totally lost his shit, wouldn’t even let Rick talk to him for three weeks. He punched Rick square in the jaw for that one, and that was the first time he hit hard enough to hurt. That’s why this stupid silent treatment is nothing new to Rick, though Morty didn’t punch him in the face this time. He didn’t do shit.

 _So fucking what,_ Rick thinks, leaning his hand on his palm, sitting at the dining room table. He’s considering going back to Summer to ask her which movie theater they went to. He’s so fucking bored.

He takes out his portal gun and flips through theaters nearby, sorted by distance. The little asswipe had gotten his license a few weeks ago, and Jerry, in some stupid, ill-advised method of getting himself back into the family, still trying after two years and one boyfriend screaming at him to stop driving by the house at night, bought Morty a shitty 1999 beige Ford Taurus. It’s so ugly that Rick can barely stand to look at it, much less sit in it, much less see Morty picking girls up in it. The paint’s peeling and the exhaust coughs out black dust every time it starts up.

And Morty won’t even let Rick mod it. Therefore, it’s a piece of shit, and it’s not like Morty would go far. Rick sets in the nearest Century Cinema and walks through the green glow.

-

Rick hangs around the entrance until he sees them. Jessica looks all cute, big boobs perked up in a low-cut shirt. She’s wearing shorts, and Morty’s pussy ass doesn’t even try to put his hand on her waist. He’s holding a large fountain drink, his other hand in his pocket.

Jessica sees Rick first, and she waves. Morty looks to where she’s waving and his face pales. Rick glowers at him in response.

“ _Rick?_ What the hell,” Morty starts, and Rick feels, for one fleeting second, really fucking uncomfortable.

“Morty Morty Morty,” he says, snatching Morty’s drink out of his hands, “It’s a fucking emergency, why else would I be here?” He sucks on the straw. It’s fucking Mountain Dew.

“Rick, I’m busy tonight,” Morty says, and he actually reaches out and takes Jessica’s hand.

“O _ouughhh_ hhh, I get it,” Rick says, eyes flitting back and forth between their faces, “H-hey, congratulations Jessica, this is a _biiiig_ moment for Morty, here.”

“Rick!” Morty strains.

Jessica smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear, her other hand shifting in Morty’s grip. Rick can imagine how sweaty his palms are. “Oh, really?”

Rick grins, tossing the drink over his shoulder, into the bushes. “Oh _yeah_ , I’ll tell you all about it when he brings you over. Come on, Morty.”

“N-no way,” Morty says, and he takes a step back, pulling Jessica with him. She looks so confused. “I have plans tonight, Rick.”

“I-I heard you the first time,” Rick says. He takes Morty’s other arm and pulls it towards himself. “This—this is important.”

Morty pulls his arm back. It slips out of Rick’s fingers easily—way too easily. “Rick, you’re embarrassing me!”

“You’re sixteen, Morty, you’re not—you’re not fucking twenty-five,” Rick says, jabbing his finger into Morty’s chest instead, “I can get _wayyy_ more— _URgh—embarrassing_ if you want me to!”

Jessica finally lets go of Morty’s hand and steps to the side. Morty throws a pleading look her way. Rick licks his lips, the spit around his mouth frothy.

“How about it, Morty?” He asks.

Morty doesn’t respond. He’s trying not to cry; his shoulders are stiff and Rick can see his chest hitch as he struggles to breathe. It dawns on Rick that he’s thinking about other things, not Jessica’s photo in his locker, nor the wet dreams he’s had about her, nor the time he asked Rick to hack into her Facebook (Rick did, and found out a lot more than he wanted to know about how creepy Morty used to be. He told Morty he changed his mind). Morty’s thinking about _other things,_ them together, Rick sweating over his chest or his back, Morty’s moans and whines that have lowered in pitch just a little, his hands more than a little wider over Rick’s cock.

“Oh my god,” Rick says, “j-jesus, okay. Fine. I-I’ll do it myself.”

“Rick,” Jessica offers, right as Morty’s shoulders sag in relief, “If it’s really that important, I can just call an Uber—”

Rick holds his hand up at her. “I’m sure he’s—he’s just _dying_ to take you out for ice cream. I’ll see you later, Morty.”

He turns around before Morty can say anything to him, and walks away, not wanting to open a portal up right in front of them. He turns the corner of the building and leans against it for a moment, crossing his arms, staring at the ground.

-

Instead of going back home, Rick goes to Kzeth-7, a bar on the outskirts of Federation reach back when the Federation was still a threat. Rick still likes to go because the drinks are dirt cheap and hard and, depending on the bartender, sometimes free.

He’s in luck: the bartender is a big, well-muscled Bromian with thick, red-brown scales instead of skin. He’s got a jutting fanged jaw and eight eyes, and all eight of them turn to Rick when he walks in, and four of them wink in recognition. One of his hands wave; the other three are busy preparing drinks.

“How’s it going,” Rick says as he slides onto the stool to his right. He doesn’t remember his name.

“Rick,” The Bromian says, a deep, guttural bass that Rick could probably feel if he leans on the table hard enough, “good to see you.”

Rick doesn’t make the obvious joke about his eyes, stretching out over the stool instead. “Miss me?”

The Bromian smiles, showing two sets of shark teeth.

-

He fucks Rick up hard against the bathroom door, Rick feeling like he’s slipping through his arms with how much he’s drank, like he’s liquid mercury instead of an ancient bag of bones.

“Fuck yeah,” Rick grunts with every thrust, the door creaking under his hands, “fuck, yeah, _fuck,_ your cock—your cocks are so—so big, big guy.”

The Bromian growls and Rick tries, he _tries_ , but then he closes his eyes and imagines Morty behind him instead.

-

He doesn’t know what time it is when he steps out of a portal in the garage door, but he knows it’s late. His light’s still on, fluorescent buzzing that grates at Rick’s ears before he gets used to it. He thinks about fucking around with some equipment, but his ass is sore after being railed by two big, scaled, alternating cocks, and the drinks have put a heavy weight over his eyes. He stumbles over to his room, opening the door, then starts when he sees someone on his bed. Rick reaches for the pistol in his labcoat before he realizes that it’s Morty. Bigger Morty, taking up the whole bed. Maybe it’ll stop surprising him eventually.

Rick considers kicking him out. But that’s such a waste, such a waste when Morty’s the one who’s come crawling back to him. Even the satisfaction of sending Morty off doesn’t sound as good as getting Morty off. So he approaches Morty slowly, then nudges him with his knee. Morty twitches and breathes in deep, opening his eyes.

“Did I wake you up?” Rick says, laying on the sarcasm. It’s _his_ room.

“Y-yeah,” Morty says, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He rolls over onto his back, looking up at Rick. He’s frowning. “I… I needed—need to talk to you.”

“Talk?” Rick asks, and nudges him with his knee again, this time in his arm. “Scoot over.”

Morty pushes himself up onto his elbows, then sits up. “No, Rick. I-I’m not here… not here for that. I-I’m here to talk about… with—with Jessica—”

“Boy, _she_ looks tasty, huh?” Rick says, taking out his flask and drinking from it. Morty looks horrified and he adds, “ _Morty, come on,_ I can appreciate it. It’s—it’s like a painting. You gotta agree, I could see your boner all the way from the parking lot—”

“No, Rick!” Morty says, his hands balling into fists, “Th-th-that doesn’t make it okay! And quit! Quit talking about my boner! I-it’s not yours!”  

Rick’s mouth pulls down at the last part. “It’s not, huh?”

“No,” Morty says, “no, it’s not. A-a-and, in fact, it was—it was Jessica’s tonight!”

Rick raises half his brow. “Jessica had a boner?”

Morty all but spits in indignation. “ _NO!_ Jesus christ, Rick, you know, I-I-I’m really regretting coming down here—”

“Yeah, well, you did choose to do that,” Rick says. He sits to Morty’s right, near the wall. “You wanted to tell me you fucked Jessica?”

“We didn’t fuck,” Morty says, “a-and that’s _not_ why I’m down here—”

Rick puts an arm around Morty’s shoulder and leans in, his mouth near Morty’s neck. “You, uh… she… she give you a blowie?”

Morty wrinkles his nose at that.

Rick jostles his shoulder a little. “Huh?”

Morty nods. His cheeks are pink in the light from the hallway.

“She better than me?” Rick asks. The question hangs heavy in the air, a cold moment that ticks seconds past just an uncomfortable pause.

Morty shakes his head.

“Well,” Rick says, leaning back, trying not to look too smug, “I’ve got decades of experience on her, I’m sure. Even when I was her age I was turning guys onto sucking cock because of how fun—how—how _good_ I made it look _,_ Morty.”

“Stop,” Morty whispers, like he can’t bear to hear Rick being so open about it. Rick leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss under his jaw. He feels Morty shiver and he does it again, pressing deeper, wanting to feel the pulse of Morty’s blood under his skin, against his lips and tongue, so young and healthy. He makes Rick feel so, so old.

“I was young once, Morty. Your grandpa was pretty—pretty hot.”

“I’ve seen,” Morty mumbles, and he cranes his neck for Rick. It goes straight to Rick’s cock, his nerves sparking, “the pictures, Rick.”

“You agree?” Rick asks, trying not to sound too surprised, but _shit,_ for some reason it makes him _so_ fucking horny. He thinks about it, the Flesh Curtains days, how exciting it would have been for Morty to be there with him when he was hopped up on ecstacy and life in equal measure.

“I-I need,” Morty says slowly, Rick pushing his thigh into him, sucking gently on his neck, “you to stop following me around. You really, you know, embarrassed me.”

Rick pulls back, a thick strand of saliva from Morty’s neck breaking over Morty’s shirt. “But she still sucked your cock, Morty.”

“Ugh,” Morty says, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t argue with you, Rick! I-I’m not trying to argue! Just…” he lowers his hands, “you know, one—one day I’m gonna leave this house, and—and I want to marry Jessica, Rick, and—and that means we can’t do this forever!”

Rick ignores his heart beating into overdrive. He knows this day was going to come. He’s been ready. He’s thought about several courses of action, some of them so sick that it would destroy the family, but experiencing it here and now is… different.

“So,” Rick says, his voice low, “push me away.” He leans in again, hand curling around Morty’s thick waist, his mouth on the corner of Morty’s mouth. He turns Morty’s head with his other hand, and kisses him.

Morty’s hands come up, bracing slight on Rick’s arms. Rick tilts his head, willing Morty to part his lips, his tongue gentle as it draws up from Morty’s bottom lip. He can smell it, wet fabric, precum and musk. Morty’s as hard as Rick is, and all of this is as hard as they both are. Rick’s ass stings, but if Morty wants—if he wants—

“Morty,” Rick whispers into his mouth, “Morty…”

Morty squeezes his eyes shut, and kisses him back.

 

 

 

END

 


End file.
